Unspoken Care
by dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Mac's confrontation with Don after the train incident. It's the things that they aren't saying that mean the most, and they both know it. Set in Season 6, Episode 8.


Unspoken Care

**Summary:** The most important things between them weren't being said, but understood anyway. Because they were friends, and looked out for each other. Even at the worst of times. CSI New York. Flack and Mac. Episode 8 Season 6.

He didn't know what to say when he looked up and saw Mac there, in Terrence's living room. Of all the people he would have expected to see in the gangster-turned-CI's apartment, Mac wasn't one of them. Certainly not in his work uniform, badge on his hip with his gun, still wearing his suit and jacket. Not in a neighborhood where the sight of a cop either sent people to the wood-works, or brought out the knives and guns. Not where being a cop, or harboring one, was a good way to get yourself roughed up, or worse, dumped lifeless in a ditch on the other side of town. But...Mac was there, watching him with the dark, hooded gaze that meant the other man was controlling his emotions, and holding on tight.

He wasn't surprised for long. It was Mac. Shame at being tracked down replaced the surprise, and a kind of edgy restlessness that bordered on anger. Anger that they'd interfere in his personal life. Anger that he was being caught, and at the feeling that he was about to get chewed out like a teenager caught bar-hopping on a school day. He didn't need it. But Terrence had left them alone, so there was no recourse to 'not wanting to involve a third party' and he didn't know enough about where he was to just leave.

He settled in a chair across from his friend of several years, too embarrassed and angry to look him in the eye. "I don't know what to say. It's just one of those days."

_I __don't __want __to __talk __about __it. __I __know__ you__ can __smell __the__ alcohol, __and __that __you __can __see __I'm__ not __moving__ right. __I __know__ you__ know__ this__ isn't __my__ kind __of __neighborhood. __But __I __don't __want __to __discuss __it. __Not __now. __Ease __up. __Leave __it __alone. __I'll __get __back __to__ you._

He and Mac had both had 'those days'. The gray, ugly days where talking was an effort, and being civil was like pulling your teeth out by the roots. Those days when anything that wasn't the job was strictly off limits. They'd learned to give each other space and time. A little room to work out the kinks. Mac was better at hiding them. More determined when he tried. With Mac, it was a tightening in the eyes, a clipped way of speaking. A retreat to his office, or home to his guitar. Or a walk to Ground Zero, sometimes with an all-night stay. He was a little more explosive, a little more revealing.

"You can do better." Just that, and a shake of the head, and he knew he wasn't getting out of it so easily.

_We__ are __going __to __discuss __it. __Because __we __have __to. __It __isn't __just __today, __and __it __isn't __just __one __of __'those' __days. __We'll __discuss __it...Because __I__ need __to __know__ what's __going __on, __and __I'm__ not __giving__ up__ until __I __have __a __real __answer._

He didn't want to do better. Didn't want to try and explain the tangle of emotions under the surface. "Fine. It won't happen again."

_There.__ Sorry __I __screwed__ up. __Promise __not __to __be __here __next __time. __Are __we__ done __yet?_

Even inside his own head, he sounded like an annoyed teenager. A kid getting called on bad grades and wanting nothing more than to get away from it and back to his stereo and his buddies. He didn't really care that Mac was pissed, or that Mac was there. Didn't feel like admitting he'd screwed up, and certainly didn't feel any need to react, to change things. Shit happened. He'd gotten jumped. End of story.

"Damn right. Next time, I'm making it official."

And Mac sounded like a parent. Threatening. Or an older sibling.

_Next __time, __I'll __ground __you.__ Next __time, __I'll __get __the __department __head__ on__ your __ass, __or __IAB. __You'll __answer__ me __and__ shape __up, __or __I'll __take __it __higher._

He didn't need it. How could Mac, or anyone, understand how he felt? What it meant to lose Angell. What it had felt like to shoot that guy, in cold blood, where no one could see him. How could Mac possibly understand? What gave him the right to police him, to hunt him out and challenge him over how he chose to cope? What he chose to do to escape his demons.

"Fine. You do what you gotta do." He rose from the seat, wondering how far he'd have to go to find Terrence. Or maybe, he could just duck out the back window.

_We're __done __here. __I __don't __have __to __explain __myself__ to __you. __I __don't __want__ to. __You __don't __understand__ what__ I'm__ going __through. __You __don't __understand __what __I'm __feeling. __And__ this __crap__ is __none __of __your __business.__ So __butt __out,__okay? __Get __off __my __back. __Go __shove __your __interfering __nose __somewhere __else.__ That's __your __job,__right?__ Go __do __it._

But Mac was rising too. And to his shock, more than rising. It was surprise, more than force, that stopped him and rocked him back a step when Mac stiff-armed him, shoving him backward with one hand. He looked up, found true fury in Mac's face, something he rarely saw. Fury, laced with something else, something, perhaps, much more terrible. Then Mac shook it back, controlling it as he controlled all his other emotions and all his actions. But the anger was still there, lacing his words. "Let's be clear. A part of me wants to take this badge off and settle this another way."

_We're__ not __done. __I'm __not __done. __I__ know__ you're __not __listening. __I __know__ you're __brushing __me __off. __I __know__ you__ think __I __don't __have __a __right. __But __damn__it, __I __don't __care. __You're __gonna __talk __to __me. __You're __gonna __listen __to __me.__ You __made __this __my __business, __and __now, __we __are __going __to __deal__ with__ it. __Even__ if __I __have __to__ pound __the __answers __out __of __you, __and__ knock __your __head __on __the __floor __until __you __listen. __I __should __already __be __doing __it. __I __almost __wish__ I __was._

He didn't like the tone. Nor the implications. Didn't like the challenge, still locked in those hooded eyes. And all of a sudden, Mac was too close. Too close to his secrets, too close to his heart. All of a sudden, it wasn't about not caring about what the CSI was doing, or about annoyance at being tracked down like an errant teen. It was too close, and Mac wasn't letting him go like he usually did. There were shadows in Mac's eyes that he didn't want to face or understand. And it was the mix of desperation and anger that spoke. "Get out of my face!"

_Leave __me __alone! __I __don't __care!_

And Mac broke. Unexpected, because he'd never seen the other man truly lose control. He didn't have time to react, before the other man seized his shirt in a double handful of fabric and shoved him backward into a post, hard enough to wind him. The tightly controlled emotions broke over his face, twisting it with that terrible mix of anger and unidentifiable emotion. His arm, solid and far stronger than he would have thought, pinning him in place.

A silent struggle, and then words snarled out through Mac's clenched teeth. "We're in the middle of a murder investigation, and you go AWOL?"

_Damn __it! __I__ said, __we're __not __done. __And__ I'm __not __letting__ you __off __this __time. __You're __listening. __Don't__ you __know __what __you __did?__ Do __you __realize __the__ position __you're__ in? __Do __you?_

His anger shuddered under the assault of emotion, of that tightly controlled strength. He didn't want to think about it, even as his mind began to process what he was seeing and hearing, as the anger began to fade. He only had one more chance to break the hold. "I can handle myself!"

_ I'm fine! What more do you want from me? I'm just fine._

"Is that what you call it? Is that what you're doing **here**, in this apartment? Is that why I had to get **this** off Terrence?"

The sight of his own back-up weapon in Mac's hand shocked the last of the anger from his system. So did the realization that he had no clear memory of how it had come to be in Terrence's possession. And only foggy memories of the mugging where Terrence had saved him.

Mac's words rolled over him, and he went still, realizing he did recognize, now, the other emotion that twisted his expression. The emotion that had written itself into his face and burned into his words, making them sting like fire. Fear. Mac was afraid. Terribly afraid, more so than he had ever seen the other man, except when Danny had been shot. And it had nothing to do with Mac's own presence in this place, but with him.

Mac's fear burned away his anger, holding him still, forcing him to listen. Mac's furious tirade rolled over him, and he found himself listening, not just to the words, but the tone, with all the skills he'd honed in years of police work, and teaming with the CSI's. With Mac himself. All the years they'd been friends and colleagues.

_**"**__**We're **__**in **__**the **__**middle **__**of **__**a **__**murder**__** investigation, **__**and **__**you **__**go **__**AWOL?**__**"**_

_Where__ the __hell __were __you?__ We __need__ you, __now, __more __than __ever. __I __needed __you. __And __I __needed __to __know __you __were __okay. __You __could__ have __been __anywhere, __in __any __condition. __I __didn't __know. __And __it __cost __me __resources __I__ don't __have __to __find __out. __And__ it __could__ have __cost __you __so __much __more. __Don't __you __realize, __there __are __a __dozen __ways __or __more __we __could __have __lost __you, __aside __from__ lost __contact?__ And __that __I__ know, __and __am__ aware __of __all __of __them?__ What __if __you'd __been __like __Stella, __nearly __killed __in __Greece?__ Or __like __Aiden?_

He _was _AWOL. The department had every right to fire him for it. But Mac was here, and he knew, without asking, that Mac had covered for him, protected him, and come to his rescue. In more ways than one.

_**"**__**Is**__** that **__**what **__**you're **__**doing **__**here, **__**in **__**this **__**apartment?**__**"**_

He knew, somehow, that Mac knew what had happened. Why Terrence had picked him up. And what condition he'd been in. What condition he was in now.

_Do__ you __know__ where __you __are? __Cops __die __in __this __neighborhood. __You __could __have__ died __on __that __train. __If __you __can __handle __yourself, __you __should __be __at __your __job. __Be __working __with __me, __not __lying __on __your __CI's __couch. __You __should __have __at __least __known__ to __come __to __me.__ Why __aren't __you __at__ the __office? __Or,__ if __you__ couldn't __go __there, __why __not __at __home?__ Or, __if __you__ couldn't __stay __home, __you __could __have __at __least __gone __somewhere __safe. __Even __my __place. __Didn't __you__ realize __that? __I __would __have __helped__ you, __covered __for __you, __if __it __was __so __bad._

_ **"****Is**** that ****why ****I**** had ****to ****get ****this ****off ****Terrence?****"**_

_You're__ never __without __your __back-up. __How__ can__ you __say __your __handling __yourself, __when __you __can't __even __keep __hold __of__ your__ weapon? __Do __you __know__ what __it __did __to __me, __when__ he __gave __me __your __gun? __Do __you __know __how __close __you __came __to __dying? __How __could __you __have __let __it __get __this __far? __What __would __you __have __done,__ if __he__ hadn't __picked __up __your __gun?__ If __you __hadn't __been __so __lucky .__Did __you __think __what __I__ would__ have __done, __had__ to __do, __if__ I'd__ been __picking __your __gun__ up __as __evidence __in __your __murder?_

_ **"****Is ****that ****why ****I**** had ****to ****have ****Stella ****triangulate ****your ****phone?****"**_

_ We couldn't find you. You didn't even call to let us know you were okay. There's a killer on the loose, and we didn't know where you were. For all we knew, you were already in some maniac's dead in the street. It doesn't matter if you'd lied to me. You should have at least answered when I called, so I'd know you were safe. Even if you lied. I shouldn't have had to find you with a satellite, and chase you into the ghetto to make sure you were somewhere safe,alive, and out of harms way._

_ **"****Is ****that ****why ****I**** had ****to ****have ****Danny ****check ****the ****ER's, ****to ****see ****if ****you'd ****turned ****up ****dead?****"**_

_ It's so easy to go from cop to victim. From investigator to body. You came so close. Until I found you, I didn't know what happened. I didn't know, damn it. You could have been lying in your own blood, like Angell. You could have been a body in a back alley, like Aiden. Or a James Doe, like dozens we see come through our lab every single day. You almost were. You almost died. If Terrence hadn't saved you, Danny would have found you before I did. And I'd be pulling back a sheet to identify you, or escorting your sister and father to do that task. Did you think of that, when you were 'handling' yourself?_

Mac let him go, and the silence fell between them. A silence filled with his own shock, at the depth of Mac's fear, at the concern and care for him that had driven the CSI all the way here, that had broken those steel-strong walls he kept around his emotions, and burned between them like white hot fire. The fear, bordering on anguish, that sent a man so in control over the edge.

He staggered to the chair, looked up at the strong, solid form, still clad in his working business suit. Looked at the badge gleaming on Mac's hip, a badge that was more target than shield in this part of town. And he saw, abruptly, what Mac had done for him, and why.

He'd protected him, searched for him, come to find him. The middle of a murder investigation, and Mac had walked away from his duty, simply out of concern and care for him. For their friendship, and the deep, protective love he knew the other man held for all those who were a part of his team. And even angry, the man still cared. Cared enough to be angry, and to let him see it.

For him, the other man had come here. His clothing, his badge, his mannerisms, they screamed cop. Even if he hadn't been the most celebrated CSI in New York City, his face periodically plastered all over every newspaper and tabloid. He was a city legend, with a target a mile wide on his shoulders. And yet, he'd knowingly walked into a neighborhood where all of that was against him. Where the wrong eyes meeting his was a death sentence for him. But he had come, for all the reasons that hung unspoken in the air between them.

The last anger and defensiveness melted into shame, and shock, and contrition. Almost pain, at the realization of the danger he had put his friend in. And what he had done to the man who had his back, still, after everything.

He watched Mac breathe, then raise a hand to rub his face, physically wiping away the strain, as he pulled all the simmering emotion back into himself, locked it down, controlling it once more. When he spoke, his voice was calm, only the hot, storm-tossed eyes revealing the turmoil that had so nearly consumed him moments before. "You can keep telling people that you're fine. But that won't work."

_You__ can't __run __forever. __Someday, __it'll __catch __up __to __you.__ Someday, __you'll __have __to __tell __someone__ what's __going __on. __It __can __be __me, __or __whoever __you __like, __but __you __can't __keep __going __like __this. __Hide __in__ the __bottle, __run __to __hell __and __back,__ it __won't __matter. __There __will __still __be __a __reckoning. __And__ you'll __have __to __face __whatever __it __is __that's __made __you __do __this._

There was no force now, only anger, and hurt, and concern. And it was the hurt and concern that pushed his anger away, pushed away his fear and his reluctance, and let the words leave him.

"It's been eatin' at me Mac." He swallowed, looking away, then back. "When Angell was killed, all I wanted to do...was make things right."

_It's __tearing __me__ apart. __Guilt. __Hurt. __Grief. __Everything. __But...guilt __now. __That __I __couldn't __save __her, __that __I__ did__ what __I __did __out __of __vengeance. __But...also __what __I've __done__ to __you. __You __were __mourning __too. __You __cared.__ I __heard __it __in __your __voice. __And __I...I'm__ here, __and __you're __here, __because__ I __forced __you __to __be. __I __put __that __look__ in __your __eyes. __That __hurt, __angry, __concerned __look. __That __haunted__ look __that's __making __you__ clench __your __teeth. __It's __tearing __me __apart, __what __I've __done. __What __I __haven't __told __you.__ What __I __should __have._

"We did that. Justice was served, because we did our jobs."

_I __know. __I__ felt __it. __But __we__ did __what __we __had __to __do. __We __got __the __bad __guys. __I __just __don't __know __what __you __did, __to __make __you __like __this. __But __this __won't __help. __You __get __through __it __by__ doing __what __you __need __to,__not __like __this._

And finally, finally, he lost himself in the unspoken words, and cried out the confession of the event that had haunted his nightmares.

"You weren't there! You weren't there with me and Simon Kaine. I was with that bastard. I stood over him! And I looked him in the eyes and I...!"

"What happened is between you and your God." Harsh words, cutting him off.

He felt shock again. So close to a full confession and Mac blocked him again. Cut him off.

_I __thought __you __wanted __to __know. __Wasn't __this __all __about __getting __me __to __confess?__ I __thought __you __needed __to __know __what __was__ going __on. __That __you __were __worried__ about __me._

"I'm not your priest." Mac watched him with those dark concerned eyes, and the part of him that wasn't shaking inside from the explosive emotion heard him, and understood.

_I__ do. __I__ want __to__ know__ what's __wrong. __I__ want __to__ know __you're __facing __whatever __happened. __I __want __to __know __you'll __deal __with __it. __I __don't __want __you __to __tell __me __something __I__ may __have __to __act __upon.__ I'm__ still __wearing __a __badge. __It's __my__ duty __to __report __it __if __you__ did__ something__ wrong. __Something __out-of-line __or __criminal. __I __can't...I __won't __violate __that. __But __I __have __to __have __evidence, __or __a __confession, __first. __I'm__ not __going__ to __let __you __tell __me __something __that __may __destroy __you. __Tell __it __to __someone __who __can __keep __it __confidential. __Someone__ who __won't __report __it. __Someone__ who __can__ protect __your __secret. __You __know__ I__ can't. __I __just __want __you__ to __face __this._

They watched each other for a long moment, his words and Mac's hanging in the air. Then the CSI pulled back. "What I do need to know, is whether I can count on you."

_Are __you __going __to __face __this, __or __run? __When __I__ turn __around, __will __you __have __my __back, __or __will __I__ be __catching __you __as __you __continue __to __fall?__ I __don't __know,__ and __I __need __to. __Because __there's __only__ so __much __I__ can __do. __And __we__ can't __hope __to __get __as __lucky __as __we__ did __this __time. __Next __time...it __may __not __end__ like __this._

He couldn't answer, knew Mac didn't expect one. He waited, unable to look up, unable to watch as Mac left, quietly exiting the door of Terrence's apartment. He wanted to watch Mac go, to know he was safely out, but he couldn't move. His head and his heart were too full.

He remembered the last time he'd been seriously injured. On the job, when they'd both been caught in an explosion. He didn't remember much of it, noise and heat and stunning pain. And waking up in the hospital about a few days later, with an aching abdomen, and Mac seated in a chair by his side. His first solid memory after the explosion was that awakening, and seeing Mac, dozing in the chair beside him with a day's worth of stubble, a rumpled suit, and a bandage snaking from beneath his shirt, up the side of his throat.

He tried to remember more, later. But everything was blank, save for one hazy memory that occasionally inserted itself into his mind. The memory of a voice, speaking to him. "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand. Don, I need you to squeeze my hand. I'm right here."

A strong voice, so commanding, and yet, those words had been full of so much pleading. He'd tried to do as he was asked, even in the darkness of dreams, because that voice should not have sounded like that. Not begging, not pleading. That voice shouldn't have held so much pain.

Stella had told him later. Mac had taken a glancing blow to the neck from debris. But it had also been Mac who'd preformed an emergency procedure to keep him from bleeding out before the rescue teams found him. Mac who'd escorted his body to the ambulance, even staggering as he was, with his throat still bleeding. The CSI hadn't even considered medical attention until his body had been loaded into the ambulance and rushed away.

It had been Mac, who'd stayed by his side almost constantly in the hospital, after they'd solved the case. And it had been Mac, whispering those words, begging him to show some sign of life.

He sat, remembering it, and thinking of what Mac would have done, if he had died on the train. If Terrence hadn't come, and the mugger with the knife had finished what they'd started.

He knew what the CSI lead would have done. He would have come. He would have escorted the body back to Sid himself, called his sister to let her know, and led her in so she could make a formal ID. Would have called his father, to tell him as well. And then, he would have gone on to find the murderers, the men who had attacked him. Whether it took him days, or years, he would have looked until he had answers.

He would have done all of it. But he would also have suffered. Suffered the grief, the anguish. Endured the struggle of holding his team together through the loss. Lived with the agony of telling his family, and standing at his graveside. Mac had cared for Angell, and mourned her, but...he and Mac been friends for years. Almost a decade. They were practically family. He knew, without really even thinking about it, the pain his death would have caused Mac. How much it would have hurt him, to be investigating his best friend's murder. Worse even, than Aiden's, and he had seen what that had done to his friend. The helpless, furious grief that had driven him, and his department. The same terrible emotion that had driven him after Angell's death and the bar shooting. The kind of pain that gave the CSI sleepless nights, and nightmare memories. And he could have driven Mac to it again.

The click of the door startled him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Terrence sliding into the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. "Mac?"

"Left the building." The CI nodded.

He bit his lip. "Is he safe?"

Terrence shrugged. "Safe out of the building? yeah. Out of the neighborhood, who knows? But that's one slick dude. Bet he'll make it okay." Another shrug. "Don't want him here, but I sure as hell wouldn't want to tangle with him." The other man gave him a nod. "You two solved your issues?"

He frowned, thinking back. "No. But we will." And he would. He knew that. Because, after he'd thought about it, he couldn't subject Mac to this again.

Terrence nodded. He glanced back at the door. "Dude must really care about you, to come down here like that. Takes some serious stones, a guy like him running into this neighborhood."

A small grin crossed his face. "Mac's got stones for sure. Nobody's got more." He rose. "It's been fun Terrence, but I got places to be, and I'm betting you don't need more trouble with your boys."

"I don't." Terrence shrugged. "You did me a favor, so I don't mind, but it'll be nice seeing your back as you leave."

"I bet. So, how do I get out, without getting jumped again?"

"Back door's down the hall." Terrence moved, picked up a slightly bloody hoodie, and threw it at him. "Put this on. Make you less obvious." He started to refuse, but the other man shook his head. "Come on, Flack, already has your blood on it. I don't need the laundry, or the hassle. And you don't need anyone seeing that white face of yours and markin' you as a target. I can't save your ass all the time."

He nodded, put it on, and listened as Terrence gave him directions for the best way out of the neighborhood, his wallet, and just enough cash to catch a cab back to the decent side of town. Then they exchanged a last thank you and handshake, and he left.

An hour later saw him home, tossing the sweatshirt into the laundry. He moved, went to look in the mirror, and grimaced. He needed a shower, a shave, and some new clothing. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. And after that...he had a call he needed to make.

Several hours later, he was cleaned up, and he'd taken the time to stop by his local church. A few minutes with his priest had left him feeling...not better, perhaps, but relieved, to have finally gotten everything into the open. Which left only one thing to do. One person he still had to make it right with.

He called ahead, because he knew Mac was still involved in a murder investigation. If the voice that answered him was a little cooler than usual, it was only to be expected. But Mac still told him to come on in, so he did.

He stepped into the office, looking at his friend. Still wearing the same suit, no signs of the struggle they'd had. The lean face was guarded, but not unfriendly, as he invited him into the office. He couldn't say anything, at first, looking into that face.

Mac nodded. "I got your message. You wanted to talk?"

_There's __something __on __your __mind. __I __can __tell. __What __is __it?__ You __know...I'll __listen. __Even __after __everything._

He swallowed. "Actually...I wanted to apologize." He caught the flash of confusion, of surprise, in that gaze.

_I__ want __to __apologize. __For __everything. __For __what __I __did __to __you. __I __know __I __hurt __you. __I __know__ I __betrayed __your __trust __in __me __as __a __friend__ and __a __colleague. __I __know __I __put __your __life __in__ danger. __I __know, __now, __what __I__ nearly __did __to __you, __when __I __let __my __carelessness __get __the __better __of __me.__ When __I __let __myself __get __jumped__ on __that __train._

But there wasn't an easy way to speak those words. He swallowed again. "These last couple months, I've been...I've been messed up. And you...you've shown me a hell of a lot of patience and support. You didn't have to."

_I__ screwed __up. __I __lost __my __head, __and __you __were __right __there __beside__ me. __Even __when __I __fell __off __the __wagon. __But, __you __were __grieving__ too. __You__ were __hurt. __And__ you __had__ a__ job __to __do. __You __could __have __left __me __alone, __like __most __of __the __department __did. __You __could __have __tried __to __knock__ sense __into __me, __slapped __me __out __of __it. __But __you __didn't, __and __even__ when __I __did __things __you __had __to __question, __like __joining __the __investigation __into __Angell's __death...you __let __me. __And __you__ had __my __back, __the __whole __way. __You __should __have __reported __me __AWOL, __but __I__ already __know__ from__ the __chief __that __you__ covered __for __me, __that __you __called __in __my__ 'sick__ day'. __Saved__ my __ass __and __my __job._

He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Thank you. I'm sorry."

_Thank__ you __for __watching __over __me. __I'm__ sorry __I __added __to__ your __burden, __especially __when __you __have __so __much __to __do. __I'm__ sorry __I __made __you __worry. __I'm__ sorry __I __betrayed __you, __even __if __I__ didn't __mean __to. __I'm __sorry __I __caused __you __pain._

A long moment, then Mac nodded. "Everyone mourns differently, Don. I know a lot of your...behaviors, had to do with Angell's death."

_I __know__ you're __grieving, __and __I__ understand. __I __do.__It's __okay.__ I __forgive__ you,__ for __that. __I__ know__ you __aren't __like __me. __I __bury __myself __in __work, __or __my __guitar.__ It's __not __your __way. __I__ understand __that. I forgive you._

The look in the eyes changed, ever so slightly, as Mac came around the desk. "But there's also been something else." He held up a hand, his movement revealing the gold shield still on his hip. "I don't need to hear about it. I just need to know that you've dealt with it, and it's done."

_Are __you __going __to __be __okay?__ That's __all __I__ need __to __know.__ I __don't __want __you __to __confess __and __get __yourself __in __trouble.__ Just __tell __me __you're __okay.__ That __you've __got __a __handle __on __it. For real this time. __Tell__ me, __that__ you're __safe __now, __that __I __won't __turn__ around __and__ find __you__ drinking__ yourself __stupid __again, __or __in __trouble __again.__ I __don't __know__ what __you__ did, __and __I __don't __care. __I __just __want __to __know__ you'll __be __all __right._

He held his best friend's gaze, seeing the concern and the compassion there. "I crossed the line, Mac. And I'll live with that. But it will never happen again."

_I__ crossed __a __lot __of __lines.__ But __now, __I __understand.__ Shooting __Simon __Kaine __will __rest __on __my__ conscience __forever. __But not __as __much __as __seeing __that __look __in __your __eyes. __Not __as __much __as __the __line __I __crossed __against __you, __when__ you __had __to __come __save__ me __from __my__ own__ stupidity. __This __won't __happen __again. __Because __I __won't __do__ anything__ that __can __put __me __back __in__ the __dumps like that.__And __because __I__ don't __want __to __see __that __look __in __your __face __ever __again __for __me.__ I __may__ be __a__ jerk, __but __I __will __never, __ever,__ p__ut __that __look __of __pain __and __fear __and __anger __in __your __eyes __again, __not __if __I__ can__ help __it._

There was a slight softening of the eyes, and he knew Mac, like him, was reading between the lines, the unspoken words that flowed between them, the communication that came from years of knowing each other.

He spoke softly. "What's most important to me now, is that I re-earn your trust."

_I__ want __you __to __know__ I __have__ your __back. __That __I'm __beside __you. __That __you __can__ chase __the __killer __without __fear, __cause __I'll __be __with __you, __to __protect__ you. __I __want __you __to __know__ it's __okay. __I've __got __your __back. __And __nothing's __going __to __hold__ me__ back __this __time. __I __want __you __to__ believe __that,__ and __I'll __do__ whatever __it __takes, __to __prove __that __to__ you._

Mac watched him for a long moment, and then the last of the darkness, the guarded expression, fell away from his eyes. The eyes warmed, kind and strong, filled with the warmth of friendship, and the trust of long association. Then Mac held out a hand.

_I__ know. __It's __okay. __You've __got __nothing__ to __prove, __now. __I __trust__ you. __I __know__ you've __got __my__ back, __this __time. __That __everything's __okay._

He took Mac's hand, and in that instant, the last piece snapped into place.

He'd always feel a little guilt at what he'd done. But Mac was there, and they were still partners. And whatever else happened, that was all he needed to know. All he'd ever really needed, to make things right with his world.

The tiniest of smiles creased the stern face. "Let's go. We've got a lead on our Compass Killer."

_I've__ got __a__ murderer __to __catch. __You're __coming, __right?_

His own smile felt wonderful. "Lead the way."

_Let's__ go. __I'm__ right __behind __you._


End file.
